


Letters Lost

by MidnightQuill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Marauders, Marauders era, remius, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-22
Updated: 2012-03-22
Packaged: 2017-11-02 08:58:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/367231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightQuill/pseuds/MidnightQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus has spent years excusing his absences from the school by stating that his mother is ill and that he is simply going home to visit her. Only by his 7th year it's not just an excuse. This time, she really is ill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters Lost

For six years, Remus explained his monthly absences by the simple statement  _My mum is ill; I’m going home to visit her_. There was no truth to it until the summer of 1976. Up until then, it had been commonplace, as was the sympathy from those who didn’t know him all that well yet cared enough to let it show. But when those words adopted meaning, when his parents had sat him down to explain that she  _was_  in fact ill, Remus was taken aback by how much those words hurt.

She was ill and she wasn’t getting better. Some things even magic could not undo as a trip to St Mungo’s had confirmed. It had taken Remus a while to accept that, but he supposed it was merely the natural order of things.  _Life wasn’t fair._  This was one of the first ideas that took root in his mind after he was affected with lycanthropy.  _Life didn’t always grant you what you wanted, caring little for how fiercely_   _you wanted it_. That much he’d always known. 

It had become a joke between himself and the other Marauders. They had laughed at the fact that despite what he said she was perfectly fine, far from her death bed to be precise, and they were in fact merely preparing for an eventful night at the Shrieking Shack. Remus’ blood ran cold, but like his parents he didn’t let it show. A calm nod of his head in recognition of what she had said and a perfunctory hug from them both was all that had passed that day. 

When he returned to Hogwarts for his seventh year and these familiar words eventually left his lips, it pained him that he  _wasn’t_  returning home to visit her. His every breath reminded him that time was short, every heartbeat a threatening countdown to the moment when he’d lose one of the few people who had permanence in his life. He hated himself more than ever, hating the curse within him that had taken the place of time in which he could have gone home. Professor Dumbledore would have understood, surely? But Remus hadn’t spoken of it to the headmaster, just as he hadn’t spoken of it to James and Peter, let alone Sirius who knew him better than he was ever comfortable with. As much as he wanted to go home, his parents had never asked it of him. Brave expressions and words of consolation extended onto parchment, but the real severity of the situation was evident in the sheer  _quantity_  of letters that arrived each passing week. Her final words, time and time again, read with reluctance as he clasped each letter in trembling hands. 

It was when Professor McGonagall called him out of Charms that Remus knew. Her voice was as stern as he’d ever heard it, but it was unmistakably laced with something less familiar. Whether it was sympathy, sorrow, or pity, it mattered little.

Getting to his feet, his hand instinctively moved to the pocket of his robes finding ruffled parchment. The letter that he had stuffed into his pocket that morning, awaiting the end of the day so that he could read it in privacy, was the  _last_ letter he’d ever receive from her. 

* * * * *

After class, Sirius ran ahead of James and Peter, wanting to catch Remus on his own. Sirius probably understood better than most what had happened. Normally he was naive to the world around him, too self-absorbed and embittered by his own existence to really give a fuck about others.

But when it came to Moony,  _his_  Moony.. Sirius knew. 

He knew what expression crossed Remus’ face as his heart shattered in his chest; he could read the subtle twitch of his scarred features that was a mere shadow of the pain that swept over him. He knew all this because he’d broken Remus’ heart only the year before, after that fateful prank which he only half regretted, even today. He’d only acted then as he was now, out of an inclination, a desire, a burning  _need_  to protect the boy he’d come to care so much about. 

Charging up the stairs to their dormitory, Sirius threw the door open and crossed the room to where Remus sat huddled over his trunk. Packing. Even worse, clothes, books and various bits of parchment spilled over the rim of the trunk onto the floor in what was a startlingly unremuslike manner. Placing an arm around his shoulders, Sirius urged the boy away from his trunk and into an embrace. As Remus clung to him, arms wrapped around his torso tighter than he might have otherwise allowed and fingers digging into his back, Sirius felt greed flare up in his chest. He was loathed to let Remus leave Hogwarts  _at all_ , no matter what the circumstances were or however short his absence may be. Sirius wanted Remus to stay, where he could keep him safe and maybe tempt a smile from behind the frown with the obnoxious grin that Remus had recently come to find endearing. The thought of ever releasing him from his locked arms was nigh on despicable. He resented the fact that he could pretty much save Remus from anything.

Except this.

Remus had to go, because his mum had died. His mum who, on the odd occasion when she opened the front door to find a grubby and weather-worn Sirius seated on an idling motorbike which he’d flown all the way from the Potter cottage, had welcomed him into their home for a mug of Earl Grey, chocolate bourbons and pumpkin pasties. Sirius didn’t know the woman half as well as he knew Mrs Potter, but that act in itself was enough indication that Remus had lost something which Sirius had  _never_  had, something rare and indescribably valuable. In its absence, Sirius had lost nothing. Yet he knew all too well what Remus was feeling.  _Alone._

“Moony,” he whispered, knowing better than anyone that words changed nothing. Life was what it was. But it reminded the boy that this feeling wouldn’t last. He  _wasn’t_  alone. Bringing his hands to Remus’ face, he sought out his lips in hope that the pressure may impress this upon him. 

“Remus Lupin...”  _I love you. Let me come with you._  

Remus let his arms loosen before taking a step back and dropping them altogether.  Sirius could only guess whether he’d understood. But what was clear was that Remus was determined to do this alone regardless. And no words Sirius wielded could undo the unyielding stubbornness of Remus Lupin.

Remus didn’t cry. Not that he was a boy who was incapable of tears. They had threatened to sting his eyes when he’d first set out on the Hogwarts express, having failed to find other first years with whom to share a compartment. He’d convinced himself that this experience would represent his time as a whole, that he’d remain friendless. Only during his first night at Hogwarts did he realise how mistaken he’d been, for he had found four of the fiercest friends known to him. He’d gorged on various meats and mashed potatoes followed by apple crumble and ice cream all evening, before they chatted and chuckled the night away in their new dormitory.

Tears hadn’t threatened him again until his third year when Sirius, James and Peter had confronted him about his secret, the secret which they had somehow uncovered over the years. Yet they’d easily been thwarted by the fact that his friends remained just that.  _Friends._  They didn’t seem to care about his condition as he had come to expect. In fact, they even thought it was cool. Remus went to sleep that night guilty of a wide grin plastered across his lips and a warmth about him that he couldn’t ever recall feeling in the past.

Only towards the end of his fifth year did he let tears stain his cheeks. It was not the first full moon during which the stag, the rat and the dog had accompanied him; however it was the first he’d endured with Padfoot alone. And he’d torn him to shreds. At least he’d tried to. Remus awoke on the cold, dusty floorboards of the Shrieking Shack. The first thing he’d heard was a violent mix of curses and winces of pain slipping from between Sirius’ lips. The first thing he’d  _seen_ was the raven-haired boy resting with his back against the end of the bed as he worked his wand over the watercolour of bruises which pigmented his skin, hastily so that he stood a chance at sparing the other boy some of the guilt. Remus wasn’t entirely sure precisely  _which_  strangled words he’d expelled at the sight of what he’d done, but it wasn’t long before he felt the angry stream of tears burn his cheeks. Digging the heel of his palms into his eyes, he ignored Sirius as he crept over to him, ignoring the shaky laugh and the words that Sirius breathed softly in an effort to console him. Remus was ashamed, not only of what he had done, but that he had known it would happen yet he lacked the strength to do anything about it.

Remus cried. He merely wished he didn’t.

Tears were weakness. They reminded him that he could feel, but to feel was as much a curse as the lycanthropy that ran through his veins. Joy, excitement, laughter; these were welcome. But Remus was under no illusion. He knew they could not last. They left as easily as they came, and leave they would surely do given what he was.

Remus would rather not feel at all.  He was angry; at himself, at the curse and at the world for being what it was. He was not ignorant to the bitterness which simmered beneath his calm façade, anticipating the moment in which he snapped. He feared that the second he allow himself to feel, the very moment he let his guard slip, all the anger that he’d fought to keep at bay would merely come to consume him. For what Remus feared most was that he’d surrender to the darkness within him without even knowing it; that he’d become the wolf  _all_  the time, just like the rest of his kind. By denying himself feeling, he denied the hurt and the anger and the whirlpool of resentment that was intrinsic to werewolves. Only then could he deny the curse. In the hours after he’d been informed of his mother’s death, he  _especially_  didn’t want to feel. Not even if it was Sirius tugging him into his arms, or the tenderness with which he tried to kiss the frown from his lips.

Sirius was the epitome of feeling. If he was in a rage, he raged. If he was excited, the whole castle knew about it. If he was in a good mood, he radiated joy.

There were two incontrovertible truths. Remus didn’t want to feel, and yet in the presence of Sirius Black he could do nothing  _but_.

Remus needed to be alone.

* * * * *

Remus left Hogwarts without a word of goodbye to James or Peter, nor did he feel like stamping this harsh truth on parchment with a note. Sirius would tell them everything, whilst the rest they’d piece together themselves. However as he lay in his familiar bed at home, one that was almost too small for him now, with the light from the waning moon streaming through the crack in his curtains, he heard a frantic tap at the glass pane of his window. Remus hadn’t been sleeping nor could he deny that the noise was welcome. Thus stirring, he turned his sleepless eyes in the direction from which the sound had come before reluctantly sitting up and opening the window. The owl swept into the room, letting a scroll of parchment drop onto the end of the bed which when unrolled revealed the messy scrawl of his friend.

_Moony,_

_We’re really sorry, mate. If you want us to come, we’ll come. We already asked McGonagall but she said we had to stay and go to our classes, et cetera. Well we say to hell with class, Moony! And don’t you shake your head at that like I know you’re doing. Some things are more important._

_We’re already planning our escape. That is, Wormy and I are. I had to cast a full body bind curse on Pads to keep him from chasing after you already. I told him you’d want time with your dad._

_Sorry again, mate. This whole thing is rotten._

_Your faithful fellow purveyor of mischief,_

_Always here for you, you know,_

_Prongs_

Remus’ eyes lingered on the parchment, tearing them away only as he reached for the robes which he’d carelessly discarded on the end of his bed before attempting sleep. Diving a hand into the pocket, he withdrew the unopened letter he’d received only that morning. That  _very_  morning. Remus felt like years, and yet only seconds, had passed since Professor McGonagall had first excused him from the classroom. 

Remus seemed to contemplate opening it. However a cold draught from the open window was enough to draw his attention elsewhere. The Hogwarts barn owl that had delivered the letter now a mere speck in the placid night sky, Remus slammed the window shut against the biting night air.

The letters lay abandoned on the bedspread for a moment before Remus turned his gaze upon them once more. Scooping them up, his hands loitered in hesitation before placing them safely inside his copy of  _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_  which sat on his bedside table, one of the oldest books Remus possessed but also the first his mother had read to him after the attack. Returning his head to the pillow, Remus felt an ache in his chest, the only indication that there was a part of him that wished Sirius  _had_  come. If nothing else, it might make the hours more bearable.

* * * * *

Of course Sirius had turned up anyway.  _Late_. The funeral was now nearing its end. Remus had endured numerous sobbing aunts, frail grandparents and the vacant expressions of distant relatives whom he’d never seen before. He’d only managed to escape under the pretence of fixing tea for the guests but really he’d retreated to the back garden, immediately making his way to the garden shed where he knew his father kept his stash of cigarettes in the hope that his mum wouldn’t find out about his dirty habit.  _Little good it did him_ , Remus thought, for his mum had frequently advised him not to follow the example of his father. 

Remus didn’t smoke  _often_.  Normally it was reserved for evenings spent in the Astronomy Tower with Sirius. But today was the exception. As Remus brought the cigarette to his lips, lighting the tip with his dad’s old rusty lighter, he inhaled and immediately felt a sense of release wash over him. Whether that could be credited to the nicotine itself or the act of deviation, Remus wasn’t entirely sure.

Yet it wasn’t enough. As if in the act of smoking he’d let his guard down, the impact of what had passed that day and all that it  _meant_  was starting to set in, making itself felt when it was  _anything_ but welcome. She was gone. He had witnessed her body descend into the ground and cast the first fistful of soil himself. She was nothing but a memory, a memory of days when Remus had been blissfully ignorant to the truth of life despite everything it had already granted him; that with life came  _death_. The smoke from the cigarette was warm on his tongue and in his lungs, but the chill that hung over him could not be driven away quite so easily. 

Only when he heard a sound so familiar that it took a moment to truly appreciate it, was Remus’ drawn from these doleful thoughts. His attention was piqued by the soft rumble of a motorbike from far off, drawing ever closer, ever louder until it eventually drowned out the sombre trickle of chatter from the house as their guests offered obligatory words of condolence. 

_He didn’t._

Remus envisaged a bloody breakout from the school which had somehow led to his friend being trailed by a swarm of Hit Wizards, but not without locating his sweetheart first. When Sirius Black finally landed in the back garden, the tires of his motorbike driving great grooves into the grass which his mother could no longer take issue with, Remus put up a good front. At first glance, the werewolf employed his usual mask of disapproval. However the second Remus caught a glint of that obnoxious grin tempered by a look of earnest sympathy amidst a mop of black windswept locks, a strangely revealing smile graced his otherwise haggard expression. It was clumsy and uncontrollable, just like everything else Sirius inspired in him. More annoyingly, it was  _involuntary_ , his lips betraying him by displaying his sheer gratitude that Sirius had come; indicating just how much he’d needed him in the  _first_  place. 

Sirius felt obliged to remind himself that he was at the Lupins’ house, that he wasn’t at Hogwarts, yet just as if he  _were_  at Hogwarts he had to be careful when approaching the other boy. Even now, as he crossed the garden to the shed against which Remus leant, he couldn’t seize him in an embrace as he would have liked, the slightly anxious demeanour that Remus currently possessed enough to signify that this was exactly what he feared. At any other point in time, this might have angered Sirius. But this was Moony’s hour. 

Plucking the cigarette from between Remus’ lips, Sirius placed his other hand on Remus’ cheek, fingers gently weaving through his hair. Remus’ eyes followed his movements, a glint of intrigue in their depths which no amount of grief could contain entirely.

“I know you don’t need me and all that shit,” he began almost timidly before resting the cigarette between his lips so that wisps of smoke rose into the air between them. “But I’m here now. And I.. I’m sorry about the grass. No, fuck the grass. Remus…”

Remus was taken aback at how much Sirius struggled with the words, words that he’d heard countless time already. Yet only  _now_  did he believe anyone  _meant_  them. Sirius’ hand still rested on Remus’ cheek, his thumb gently stroking the tender scar that it bore as he continued. 

“I’m sorry about your mum.”

It hurt.  _Merlin_ , did it hurt. However, running shaky fingers through his hair, it was the rush of affection he felt for Sirius now that he stood before him that Remus had to steady himself against. 

“You’re mad, you know that?” Remus said finally, his hazel eyes drifting to the black attire of the other Marauder so as to preserve that ‘unfeeling’ for which he strove for just a moment longer. It was either that, or words  _too_  needy and  _too_  sentimental would spill from his increasingly careless lips. And for a good few seconds they seemed to work. For a moment, Remus even believed he had  _Sirius_  fooled; that he was fine, that he was coping on his own, that it  _hadn’t_  been a mistake to take this on alone. But he was wrong. Feeling wasn’t a choice. It might be preferable, for feeling invited pain, longing, and regret, but it also offered the one thing capable of counteracting that. Feeling was the remedy to grief, the  _only_  remedy to grief. As much as Remus may wish to go it alone, he had never had much luck at that. Be it his own weakness or Sirius’ persistence that defined matters, Sirius had always been there. Sirius  _would_  always be there. 

Remus reached out, taking a gentle hold of Sirius’ black tie, his expression funereal. After a moment’s hesitation, he tightened his grip and with one quick tug pulled Sirius out of view from the house, the space between them collapsing and bodies meeting in a desperate, ardent embrace. It was an admission of the fact that Remus had missed Sirius more in those few days than ever before, more than words could even  _begin_  to describe. But Sirius had missed him too. The cigarette lay forgotten at their feet, but the smoky taste of it clung to Remus’ lips, reminding Sirius of stolen moments atop the Astronomy Tower and the side of Remus that  _welcomed_  mischief, that craved it as much as he craved the pressure of Sirius’ form against his. The side of Remus that not only needed Sirius, but wanted him for exactly who he was.

“Fuck, why did I ever let you leave Hogwarts without me,” Sirius half whispered, half moaned, against Remus’ lips, his breathing heavy now that he was back within such sweet proximity of the werewolf. “I’m never leaving you alone again, do you hear?”

Sirius’ voice was full of startling sincerity, but a shaky laugh escaped him signifying just how exposed these words left him. Sirius’ eyes bore into Remus’, the intensity immeasurable. Remus nodded, before squeezing his eyes tightly shut in an attempt to stem some of the feeling that this provoked.

“Sirius,” he pleaded, before resting his forehead against the other wizard’s.

Capturing Remus’ lips with his own, Sirius obediently rendered speech both impossible and unnecessary. The sheer gratitude Remus felt for him in that single moment was evident in the way he clung to the material at Sirius’ back as he kissed him, the tenderness of his lips as they moulded to Sirius’, each touch hungry as if unashamedly seeking out the comfort of the other.

* * * * *

Remus’ father had instructed that they set up a bed for Sirius on the floor of Remus’ bedroom, setting the spare duvet atop a pile of extra pillows before he excused himself. Remus presumed he was grieving in his own way but you wouldn’t know it from the looks of him, the only indication being that he looked even sorrier than he normally did. None the less, the chink of bottles that could only just be heard over the silence that now enveloped the house was telling; John Lupin’s life would never be the same. However alone Remus felt, it paled in comparison to the grief of his father. It was a selfish thought, but Remus was glad he had Sirius to keep him from joining him in the kitchen. Grief did not always welcome company.

Remus insisted that they set up an extra bed on the floor, but like most nights Sirius simply snuck into his bed anyway. It was then that he found the letters.

Sirius had a knack for touching everything in sight. Barely a restful moment passed before he picked up the book from the bedside table and flipped through the pages until the unopened letter landed on his bare chest. Picking it up with cautious fingers, he set his grey orbs on Remus, a storm faintly brewing in their depths lit up solely by the light from the stars that seeped through the crack in the curtains.

“Moony, mate..”

When met with no reply, Sirius continued.

“You should open it. You’re mum would have wanted you to.”

…

“Come on, mate. If  _my_  mum wrote me a letter on her death bed-”

“You’d have cast it in the fire without a moment’s hesitation.”

“Right.. But that’s not my point. She wanted you to read this, not out of spite but because she happened to  _give_  a billywig’s arse about you.”

Remus grabbed the letter from Sirius’ clutches, shoving it under his pillow before  _pointedly_  turning so as to lie in the other direction and  _pointedly_  failing to say goodnight. It was childish. But Remus was a child. Well not precisely, as his seventeenth birthday had already come and gone, but after witnessing his mother’s body descend into the earth he certainly felt like it. After years of striving to be mature, calm and fair about everything life had dished him, he’d merely come to learn that  _none_  of it was fair.

Sirius did something he’d done countless times before, however in light of recent events this occasion was hugely distinct and infinitely more significant. Winding an arm around Remus, he edged himself closer to the werewolf so that, with each breath, warmth skirted over Remus’ neck.

“Moony…

“I love you.”

These words, a mere whisper of the words that had previously failed Sirius, sat too comfortably to be ignored.  But it was the first time Sirius had said them. Remus released a sad sigh, about the only thing he could do at this particular moment in time. “Thank you, Pads,” he said, hoping those simple words in return were enough to convey the world of meaning that they encompassed.

Sirius grinned. “You love me too.”

_As a matter of fact, I do. I love you. I love that you came even when I didn’t ask you to. I love that you’re just as stubborn as me, thus however indifferent I may have tried to appear you_  knew  _I needed you. And you came._

“Stupid sod,” Remus whispered, yet the smile which Sirius had lured out from beneath the disquiet was detectable in his voice.

* * * * *

Though the Marauders map had been in the making since they’d first come up with the idea in their fifth year, it was not until their sixth that they discovered the Come and Go room on the seventh floor. It had finally occurred to them to ask the house elves about the castle, for given the nature of their work they probably knew far more about Hogwarts than any living being that resided within its walls. They’d sought conversation with a particularly friendly elf by the name of Hatty, who had rather obligingly told them about the room and how to use it before supplying them with chocolate éclairs and gallon upon gallon of pumpkin juice.

Remus had only made use of it himself on the odd occasion, either when Sirius had lured him here when their dormitory had been unsuitably crowded, otherwise when they needed a place to hide something, on which occasion the room presented them with a vast hall filled with  _mountains_  of odd objects all piled one on top of the other. Remus had advised Sirius not to take anything, expecting that the magic of the room most likely prevented against it. However on this particular day it just so happened to be the only place in the castle that offered Remus even the  _slightest_  hope of getting what he wanted.

Remus clutched the letter in one hand, still unopened and the wax seal as unbroken as it was when it had arrived. Standing before the empty patch on the stone wall of the seventh floor, Remus released a heavy sigh before letting his eyes fall shut and concentrating on that one thought that had acted as a weight on his shoulders ever since he first lost the physical embodiment. The scroll of parchment which he clenched ever more tightly with each stride had become surprisingly untidy considering Remus usually took extremely good care of his possessions. Finally a wave of remorse washed over him which for once he  _didn’t_  suppress. Then Remus passed the wall. Once... Twice... Thrice...

A door appeared. Remus stepped in, only pausing in hesitation once he’d closed the door behind him so as to watch it be swallowed up by the wall. As he turned around, he was faced with little more than a mirror, the  _only_  object to disrupt the empty space before him. Yet it was vast, far taller than him in fact, and inscribed with the words  _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_. Remus traced the intricate words with keen eyes; never had he seen anything like it, thus he found himself temporarily distracted from the task at hand. Distracted all too easily from what he had come here to do. Only when his eyes found his reflection was he so cruelly reminded.

He had come here to finally open it. To finally read her last words. To let go.

* * * * *

“Remus?”

He knew that voice. It instilled a sense of calm that he’d thought was all but lost to him. It wasn’t fair how someone so outrageous, someone who made him feel a whole different kind of crazy that had nothing to do with full moons or infections but was wholly unique, could make him feel  _calm_.

The room guarded against unwanted company. But when had Sirius’ company ever been unwanted? It was no wonder this particular Marauder had managed to get through the door when no one else could have.  _Had_  it been anyone else, Remus might not have been physically able to tear his eyes from the mirror. As it was, Remus quickly drew his sleeve across his eyes so as to rid him of the evidence, as if red cheeks and puffy eyes wasn’t enough to signify  _exactly_  what he’d been doing. He took one last glance at the dusty surface of the mirror and the figure within it that was seemingly as alive as he had ever seen her. The mother who after years of fighting his condition in the vain hope of a better life for her son had then accepted him for who he was, for  _what_  he was. The mother who had taught her son to live despite it; that this alone was more courage than any man could hope for. Not that he’d ever wholly believed her.

Remus dropped his gaze. His shoulders slightly hunched where he sat, cross legged and rather sorry looking on the space of floor before the mirror, Remus made to turn towards the intruder. Only Sirius sat down behind him before he could so much as lift his gaze, encasing the werewolf in his arms and resting his chin upon his shoulder. Sirius’ eyes passed over the mirror, however he saw little more than himself and Remus. His attention was solely on the werewolf, too concerned by the sorrow that engulfed him to notice the fact that the Remus he saw in their reflection didn’t bear the scars of the full moon. Nor were his eyes quite so swollen. 

The letter lay open and abandoned on the floor. Sirius didn’t ask what it had said despite his curiosity on the matter. It was something he was wholly estranged from. After all, his mother hadn’t died yet she was as good as. If there was any grief to be felt, Sirius was already feeling it, a sense of hollowness in the pit of his stomach which he couldn’t quite shake, ever present.

It was selfish that he clung to Remus when it should have been Remus clinging to him. Releasing a sigh, Sirius allowed his guilt regarding that little fact to temporarily slip his mind. It wasn’t only Remus who felt a sense of calm in the company of the other, a sense of calm which otherwise escaped him. Remus wiped the sleeve of his robes over his eyes once more, trying to sniff with as much subtlety as he could muster. He chewed his bottom lip in contemplative silence before he seemed to lose any shred of resolve that remained to him, settling within Sirius’ arms. The frown that was deeply etched upon his brow remained, but a sigh of complete and utter surrender escaped his lips.

 “I love you,” he breathed.

Remus couldn’t see the smile that graced Sirius’ lips at these words, but he could feel it. Sirius’ hold on him tightened ever so slightly, whilst his form subtly moulded to that of the other boy as he shifted closer. Remus lifted his gaze instinctively, forgetting within an instant that what stood before them was anything but an ordinary mirror. Nor was he reminded of that fact. All he saw, or all he  _cared_  to see, was the grin that split Sirius’ lips, wider, more obnoxious and more  _radiant_  than ever. He’d seen it a thousand times in the past, after a particularly clever prank, when James made a fool of himself in front of Lily or when Peter got his briefs stuck on his head (which was more often than not their doing). Only this time it was different. This time it was him, Remus Lupin, who had been the cause of it.

And then it clicked.

“I show not your face but your heart’s desire.”

The words left his lips in a little more than a whisper, almost inarticulate but for the silence that surrounded them. Remus' eyes darted to the inscription framing the mirror, which when transposed made up the very words he had just uttered. He had been sat here for a good hour by the time Sirius walked in; it was no wonder it had occurred to him eventually. Especially after what he’d  _seen_.

“What are you on about?” Sirius asked, searching Remus’ features in their reflection for the answer. He showed no sign of seeing anything out of the ordinary. Remus could have laughed at this realisation had he not feared it would wound Sirius’ pride. He couldn’t stifle the grin that crossed his lips, infinitely less handsome than Sirius’ but equally as ridiculous. Luckily Sirius didn’t notice, too intent on planting light kisses along Remus’ neck and the tender scars that obstructed his path.

Besides, he had a feeling he and Sirius were looking upon the very same image. 

 


End file.
